


A little bit of care

by Mossbride (Morbidfeatures)



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidfeatures/pseuds/Mossbride
Relationships: Asa Emory/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	A little bit of care

He thinks he loves her. He should know after so many years that a creature like him can't love, and if he had been capable, life would have beat it out of him.

The closest he comes to human emotion is obsession. A boiling pot of oil and ink tainting beauty with the grease of his fickle heart. Asa doesn't know when his affliction started. But the sickness seeped into his tar black soul refusing to let go and now she's part of him. 

The sensation is new and he is curious, sentiments like these last for a flash then burn out just as quickly. He had his share of interest in women who he captured.

This time, he thinks, is different. It started with a breathless question 

"Dr Emory, I have a question." 

He looked up from his desk and found one of his students gazing into him waiting. She's one of the silent ones hanging at the front row desks a little ways to the left of the board. Class was dismissed, she's the only other person in the classroom, alone with her famously uptight professor studying her from his seated spot. He's as expressive as stone.

"What was your question?" It was more of a demand to know. He had a full schedule and little time to spend answering questions that he had already provided answers for during lecture.

She stuttered.

From then on he found his gaze tracing her profile as she worked at her desk. Pen moving and lips forming soundless words. Her wire framed glasses reflected the computer screen and made her eyes appear owlish.

She didn't have time to lose or money to waste. The gym showers were handy since she lived far. Each day she arrived precisely at five to avoid traffic, Went to class, Skipped lunch, went to the gym, used the shower then from there it's directly to work. She arrives home at twelve and it's immediately to bed. Not a second wasted. There's bills to pay, a mortgage payment and test to study for. Despite how hectic her life is at the moment she is happy which is more than could be said about other students.

The tiny shampoo bottles are half full. She squeezes some onto her hand and smoothes it into her hair.

Her professor is a handsome man in his thirties. Reserved. But dear lord did he have pretty eyes. Fellow female students are creeper out by the vibe he gives off but they all agree, his eyes are his best feature.

She hisses in pleasure, craning her neck sideways to feel the burning drops search her and flow down her back. in a sharp clang sound by the door.

She freezes.

"Hello?"

She stretches her hearing and when no one responds peeling back the curtains. The benches are empty and the lockers aren't host to any heads peeking above.

Was her mind playing a trick on her? Was it a ghost? She snorted at the last thought. 

Of course no one answers.

She decides to skip conditioner and leave. Better safe than sorry are words campus girls are familiar with and she takes it seriously.

No lone girl sticks around when they hear a noise. It's plain fact.

Maybe if she looked a little harder she would have seen the pair of eyes she was thinking about glinting in the darkness.

She wore pretty skirts in calm colors, they didn't irritate his sight. While female students often wore skirts or shorts so tiny he would find himself half hard and unable to stand at the board, it was the sight of her legs that stayed with him long after the days end.

In class she listened intently and always had questions to ask afterwards, her notes were impeccable in detail. Complete with charts and diagrams of an array of species they had gone over. She never missed a class.

What he doesn't know is that what really catches her attention is the hard line of his lips forming words. The barest hint of a pink tongue that had her gripping her pen tighter. The pit of her roaring to life.

She always found a reason to linger afterwards.

And now….

He is here at her doorstep after following her home. Everything is going according to pla., as predicted she has no visitors or neighbors over. Just herself and a cat. He worked hard for this day. Waited by judges like a spider in the web, peeking over a leg at the fly inching closer. There were a few times she looked over her shoulder and he thought she had for sure seen him but thankfully she continued to her home, a small wood structure that spoke plainess surrounded by fields of wheat. He had taken a moment to study her through a window as she moved unaware of his presence. Readying himself.

Excitement is hard to contain as he knocks.

It takes a moment for the door to open, he can imagine the frown on her lip as she quizzically studies the door. Predictably thinking something along the lines of 'visitors? At this hour? Who could it be?

The door opens and she is shocked to find him here but there is no suspicion or fear, not yet. 

"Professor. What are you doing here?" The question hangs over the patter of rain. She's wearing a sleeping robe. Clutching the ties tight. Her neck and ankles all that is bared. Yet the sight entices a hitch to his breath.

Hurrying him in with a light touch on the shoulder she draped a towel over him and soon the chill from the rain is forgotten. 

He sat at her quaint kitchen table watching her take out a kettle and leaves for tea. She's nervous and has a right to be. He expected her to call the cops. Why did she let a strange man she barely knew into her home?

His eyes caught a glimpse of a picture on the wall of two small smiling boys.

When she spoke her voice was above a whisper and sweet with it. "That's my nephews. I have two."

He listened to her story. Her two nephews are trouble makers who run yell and almost set a tree on fire once during an Easter cookout.

"I want a house full of them." She smiled fondly at the picture, carrasing one boy's face with a tentive finger. She then looked at him and asked. "Do you want children?"

He's caught off guard, though he does his best not to show it.

She splutters into apologize "Sorry, that's not the kind of thing you want to hear from someone you don't know ."

'But I do know you. I've been watching.' The shower ingrained the soft curves of her body into his very sense of self. She's lovely beyond all reason and with each time her hand messaged the suds away from her body the more his own yearned to see proof of him on her flesh.

The rushing water, a sharp sweet scent of daisies.

They lapse into silence. She quietly hums a radio song. The tea pot whistles and she bustles over to pour him a cup. When she leans over her hair falls partially and the robe she wears gaps showing the tantalizing hint of what's underneath. If he were to pull it down would she be wearing something practical or sexy?

His pretty girl would be sensible, no doubt he would be the one to introduce her to more risky frollic.

The herbs wafting up are strong and smelling of mint, bringing him back to reality.

Just before she pulls away he catches her wrist, startling his poor moth into a squeak. On her wrist is an angry mark that he recognizes as a tattoo. Winding like the quick of a brush.

"Why a centipede, why not a butterfly?" He asks. The first time he has spoken in the entire night, his voice makes her tense for just a fraction of a second. 'Women loved butterflies.' he assumed because they were also flighty.

She tried to catch his eyes feeling all sorts of things with his hot clasp still on her wrist, demanding attention. "Well...when I was little my mom brought some stuff that the neighbors were gonna throw away. their trash was our treasure 

I was looking through this pile of photos of old people I didn't recognize and I saw this bowl shaped glass with insects in it." His thumb traced the tattoo in a slow motion.

They lapse into silence. She quietly hums a radio song. The tea pot whistles and she bustles over to pour him a cup. When she leans over her hair falls partially and the robe she wears gaps showing the tantalizing hint of what's underneath. If he were to pull it down would she be wearing something practical or sexy?

His pretty girl would be sensible, no doubt he would be the one to introduce her to more risky frollic.

The herbs wafting up are strong and smelling of mint, bringing him back to reality.

Just before she pulls away he catches her wrist, startling his poor moth into a squeak. On her wrist is an angry mark that he recognizes as a tattoo. Winding like the quick of a brush.

"Why a centipede, why not a butterfly?" He asks. The first time he has spoken in the entire night, his voice makes her tense for just a fraction of a second. 'Women loved butterflies.' he assumed because they were also flighty.

She tried to catch his eyes feeling all sorts of things with his hot clasp still on her wrist, demanding attention. "Well...when I was little my mom brought some stuff that the neighbors were gonna throw away. their trash was our treasure 

I was looking through this pile of photos of old people I didn't recognize and I saw this bowl shaped glass with insects in it." His thumb traced the tattoo in a slow motion.

She recalls through a dry mouth. "They were worthless, all the insects were crumbled and unbound except for one that stayed pinned perfectly in place and...I fell in love." She smiled at the memory and finishes shyly. "It was a centipede." 

A beat of silence where he stares at the table. 'Professor' she want to ask 'What are you doing here? We could both get in trouble.'

"More tea?" She says instead.

His leg bumps into something under the table. A cat hisses and darts into another room. A blur of black fur. It beings a memory back of a different cat bowling in pain.

"Excuse her." She said, embarrassment lighting her cheeks. She takes his finished cup and goes to the sink. The sound of the faucet starts.

The frilly bow of the apron taunts him to the simple tug. "I don't usually have handsome men over." Yes, she was flirting and he has no idea how to respond.

So he doesn't.

He crosses the small kitchen and presses his front to her back. He brushes his lips on her neck. "Oh." She whimpers from that brush alone, tilting her head back so the fan of his breath heats her neck and chest. Pressing her ass against the shocking evidence of his arousal.

She moans. "Asa-"

"Shh." He warns. He wants her to turn, see the lust in her eyes fill with fear.

"You're the loveliest thing I've ever had the pleasure of seeing." She murmurs…swaying,a tree branch in the wind. The empty cavity that once held his heart aches at her words. Lovely. That's what she called him. Such a...delicate word. How odd and rare for it to be connected to him in any positive way.

He plunges the needle into her neck


End file.
